


Pieces

by orphan_account



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: ...we'll be right back, Angst, Connor has a bad time, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Short, lil snippets of connor's life, when does connor have a good time? you ask, yay!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It starts slow, as with all things.He’s 6. He hits Zoe because she refuses to share her Halloween candy with him. She bursts into tears, and he feels bad, then feels worse when his mom screams at him and his dad gives him a disappointed shake of the head. So he starts crying, too, and is only placated once his parents make them share all of their candy with each other. Zoe’s angry pout doesn’t leave her face for the rest of the night.He's 6. The day after Halloween, he apologizes to Zoe of his own volition. He offers her some of his candy from his stash, even though it'd mean that she'd end up with more in total. She takes the pieces and hugs him.
Relationships: Connor Murphy & Cynthia Murphy, Connor Murphy & Larry Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Connor Murphy & Zoe Murphy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I've ever completed or posted, so comments would be awesome! It's very short because I'm not used to writing complete fics, but I really liked how this ended up and so I wanted to test the waters and post it. Thank you for reading :)

It starts slow, as with all things.

He’s 6. He hits Zoe because she refuses to share her Halloween candy with him. She bursts into tears, and he feels bad, then feels worse when his mom screams at him and his dad gives him a disappointed shake of the head. So he starts crying, too, and is only placated once his parents make them share all of their candy with each other. Zoe’s angry pout doesn’t leave her face for the rest of the night. 

He’s 8. He throws a printer at his teacher in a fit of uncontrolled fury. There’s so much _stuff_ buzzing in his chest, in his brain; anger and panic and fear tearing at his insides and making his eyesight blurry. His classmates watch him in hushed shock, then start whispering to each other once his teacher orders them all out. His parents are called and he’s sent to the principal’s office; his mom’s face is white with shock, and his dad’s eyebrows are furrowed with confused anger. He can’t explain what he was thinking past his heaving chest. 

He’s 11. He punches some kid who'd called Zoe weird for drawing on herself, then snarls at the people who try to intervene. The buzzing is loud, loud, loud, and he's seated in a different principal's office, in front of a different principal, and his parents' reactions are the same. He starts therapy, starts meds. The buzzing dulls.

He's 13. He's stopped attending therapy, started slacking off on his medication. The buzzing is more insistent, a constant pulse at the back of his brain, and there are two teenagers whispering at the back of the classroom, murmuring speculation and judgement about a girl in jazz band, and he wants to tell them to shut up, to slam their heads on their desks and ask them to have some fucking _empathy_ \--

He leaves the classroom, ignoring his teacher's calls and his peers' gazes, and finds himself behind the school. A girl smoking a blunt glances at him, then holds it out. He takes a hit, ignores her laughter when he coughs, then takes two more determined hits. Then he leaves, and heads for the Orchard, and on his walk his mind dims and the buzzing fizzles out.

He's 15. His parents lament him, lament his choices, but never ask where the weed comes from. Zoe hates him, now; hates that she's in his looming, vast shadow, hates that their parents look to him first instead of her when they ask about their days. He hates it, too, but he also hates the way Zoe looks at him, the buzzing she starts in his head. He ignores her when he can, but it's too much, too much, and so he tries, for the first time, to make the buzzing _stop_.

(his dad says it's a cry for attention. his mom sobs, asks him what's wrong, what's wrong. he's not even sure his sister knows he tried. she doesn't talk to him.

it doesn't work. the buzzing stays, even when he smokes too much in a day, even when he tries his meds again.

he attempts it a few more times. his family grows more fractured with each endeavor. the silences in-between are heavy; the noise, even more.)

He’s 17. It’s the first day of senior year. He keeps his head down, tries to mind his own business, but, of course, it doesn’t work. He finds the kid he’d shoved in the library, recognizes the _thing_ lurking in his eyes, connects with it. He strikes up conversation, signs the guy’s cast, grabs his paper for him-- sees his sister’s name printed on the sheet, feels that blinding, buzzing anger. He storms out, gets in his car, and doesn't come back to himself until he realizes he's parked in his driveway. He stares up at his big, big house, and thinks, resolutely, _nothing is going to change_.

He doesn't turn 18.

* * *

He's 6. The day after Halloween, he apologizes to Zoe of his own volition. He offers her some of his candy from his stash, even though it'd mean that she'd end up with more in total. She takes the pieces and hugs him.

He's 8. He hates Little League, and he complains to his dad about it every chance he gets, but his whines fall on deaf - and exasperated - ears. He hates Little League a little less when, in his second ever game, he hits a home run on his first turn to bat. He looks to his dad before he starts running, sees the proud grin directed back at him; his dad's _whoops_ and hollers are the loudest in the crowd.

He's 11. Their family visits the Orchard for the last time. His mom makes them a picnic, something content and settled about her frame; he jokes about the time his dad had accidentally dunked one of their robo-helicopters into the pond, and his dad huffs and grumps but rubs the back of his neck apologetically; Zoe laughs, bright and cheerful and happy. 

He's 13. Zoe, after eyeing his fingertips for about a week, hesitantly asks him to paint her nails. Painting someone else's nails is different from painting his own, but he's a natural; he even adds little stars on her thumbs. Zoe examines them, says, "You're so much better at this than me," and he says, "I know," even though his first instinct was to say, _It's the only thing I'll ever be better than you at._

He's 15. People avoid him, now, which is…

...It's good. It's what he wanted all along, isn't it?

He's 17. On the first day of senior year, he meets a boy who broke his arm by falling out of a tree. Except the boy says _I fell out of a tree_ the same way someone would say _My dog ate my homework_ , and he sees something in him, something a little lost, a little broken. He's maybe also a little lost, a little broken, so he says, "That's pathetic," then offers to sign the completely empty cast. He scrawls his name in big, fat blocks of ink - **CONNOR** \- and says, "We can both pretend to have friends now," then picks up the boy's paper from the printer for him-- sees his sister's name--

He doesn't turn 18.


End file.
